


i hate the beach, but i stand, in california with my toes in the sand

by Lefauxlucifer



Series: Smile, Inc. [1]
Category: BanG Dream! (Anime), BanG Dream! Girl's Band Party! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Cliche, F/F, Melodrama, denial ain't just a river in egypt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24693163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lefauxlucifer/pseuds/Lefauxlucifer
Summary: With caffiene coursing through her veins and scores of shattered dreams, Okusawa Misaki is the quintessential salarywoman, and all she wants in life is to be left alone.Enter Tsurumaki Kokoro (stage right), a diabolical mastermind who will stop at nothing to make the whole world smile.Though Misaki is okay with that, or more precisely, she's willing to begrudgingly give Kokoro whatever she wants, in the hopes that it staves her off.But that only makes Kokoro want more, and somewhere along the way, Misaki realizes what it's like, to be drunk and in love in New York City.
Relationships: Ichigaya Arisa & Okusawa Misaki, Okusawa Misaki/Tsurumaki Kokoro
Series: Smile, Inc. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964317
Comments: 7
Kudos: 50





	i hate the beach, but i stand, in california with my toes in the sand

**Author's Note:**

> world hard and cold  
> kokomisa soft and warm

I. 24 hours. 1440 minutes. 86400 seconds.

On paper, it comes across as so much longer than it is, or maybe, it's just that the days now zip past her in the blink of an eye. She almost misses that about college, how her life could fall apart at any second without warning or cause. Back then, she was more concerned with paying that month's rent than where she would be in five years, too preoccupied with buttering up professors and passing classes to notice how she was pushing away the few friends she had.

But that’s not to say that her life has twisted into some irreverent wasteland. While some days prefer to overstay their welcome, others are just the ticket.

For instance, Fridays are soothing, a much-needed reprieve, and all she needs is to rush through her to-do list because god knows how much more of this she can take. Saturdays are the best, a true breath of fresh air, and she needs to keep her phone out of sight so she doesn't feel compelled to respond to any last-minute emails from coworkers while she's pleasantly off the clock.

And Tuesdays? Tuesdays are meant for wrestling with one's innermost thoughts, i.e, the kind of deep introspection one can only arrive at after having their peaceful life upended by a Monday that makes Hell look tame.

Needless to say, Misaki is definitely having one of those Mondays. It's nothing personal; she's simply had it up to here with unfathomable amounts of busywork coupled with Wi-Fi connectivity issues and the dismal beige of the office space.

But there she goes again, overthinking things, when all she really has to do is wait it out. One more hour of this nightmare, after which not even god can stop her from reveling in the sweet, sweet freedom of being stuck indefinitely in evening traffic (and honestly? she’s looking forward to it).

So all things considered, Misaki is fine (perfectly fine), and the bags underneath her eyes exist solely to indicate her status as a sleep-deprived twentysomething who's (knowingly) sold her soul to corporate America.

Of course, the kicker is that for someone like Misaki, there never really was much of a choice.

Because freedom? Freedom is this bold, seductive luxury that few can ever afford.

And for Misaki, that idyllic freedom is hardly anything more than a senseless dream, a dream that falls in stark contrast with what can hardly be called a work-life balance.

But dwelling on the past is an unproductive compulsion at best, and Misaki can hardly deem herself a victim of anything. It’s a waste of time when she has no time to waste, and all she can do now is move forward with as little regret as she can.

That’s all the more reason to just go through the motions and put the finishing touches on the sixth report she's conjured up today alone, the fading taste of coffee her only solace in life.

So maybe Arisa was right. Work is draining as it is. And Misaki doesn’t appreciate being sandwiched between fever dreams and full-blown psychosis (on a good day).

Considering she spends her lunch break praying to whatever sadistic god they left in charge of this hellscape that she shuffles off this mortal coil, it's just a matter of time until she loses it altogether.

And with that in mind, it’s unfair to expect her not to panic like she does when she senses an unfamiliar presence at her back, especially when the flash of gold that follows isn't the least bit calming. It's curious, and Misaki is definitely using this to justify her knee-jerk reactions whenever someone suggests she’s overly paranoid.

But the sooner it’s dealt with, the sooner she can go home, and her long history of running away from her problems is why Misaki’s here in the first place. So she sees no harm in adding fuel to the fire.

And much like the rest of her life choices, it doesn’t take long for her to regret it.

"Misaki, just who I was looking for. Hard at work as usual, I see, " and the voice is so pleasant, so tactful that she’s now prepared for the worst.

Because the chaos that is Misaki’s professional life has quite a simple explanation: the eccentric clientele.

After all, the market for children’s toys is small at best, and how she got talked into designing gothic home decor is a story worthy of three novels and a live-action film.

So she might not the sharpest knife in the kitchen, but she’s cut enough onions to know what that entails.

Putting on her game face, the overworked employee of the year mentally prepares herself to ask a question that she’s not sure anyone in the history of ever has asked in earnest.

"How can I help?" she probes, managing to feign what she assumes is the appropriate level of concern.

"Allow me to introduce Miss Tsurumaki Kokoro, " Lisa smiles, and Misaki’s been around long enough to know that’s never a good sign. "Miss Kokoro, this is Misaki, my right hand, " she seamlessly continues. "I was hoping _you_ could explain some of our unique capabilities to her. "

She’s convinced future Misaki is going to chastise her for making googly eyes at tall, blonde, and gorgeous, but present Misaki is too busy nodding along to care. God must really have it in for her today, pitting her against someone who’d be found guilty on multiple counts of murder and manslaughter if looks could kill.

Kokoro puts her arm around Misaki's shoulder (like she has no concept of personal space) and she thinks it’s kind of impressive, how quickly things go from bad to worse. She keeps noticing how close they are to one another (by choice, Kokoro’s choice), and as if purely to spite her, her thoughts slowly turn to that of a hormonal teenager. To top it all off, she gets the sneaking suspicion they’re being watched.

But Misaki's too preoccupied with understanding how she can be so familiar with someone she's known for less than five whole minutes, too captivated with that smile (that damned smile) to think twice.

So in the end, Misaki’s worst enemy…is herself. 

Though it’s a learning experience, and Misaki now knows several tidbits of into she’ll never ever need, like Kokoro’s favorite color (all of them), or that her suit isn’t just for show (she’s actually a full-fledged businesswoman who moonlights as the vocalist for a band! And she’s here to find the perfect toys to help children smile!).

And in the span of two full hours, she discovers that if she never sees Kokoro again, it’ll be too soon.

"So, if there's nothing in particular you wanted to ask me about, I guess that concludes our tour for today. We hope to have the pleasure of working closely with you in the future, Miss Tsurumaki," she ends without a hitch, and it’s a goddamn miracle she’s kept her composure this long.

"Oh, you can call me Kokoro! There’s no need to stress the formalities! So which one's your favorite?" she asks, wide-eyed, and Misaki has to blink twice before it registers.

"I don't really...have a favorite," she stumbles, coming back to her senses. "My role is more geared towards managing our financials than product design and management, and really, I'm still a little new to this side of the business..."

A white lie, perhaps, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Because the girl trying to _not-so-subtly_ hold her hand is a Tsurumaki, and the Tsurumakis make the mafia look cute.

Because as their fingers interlock, she's reminded that ships are safe in harbour. But that's not what they were meant for.

*****

73 degrees Fahrenheit, with not a cloud in the sky. The chirping of the birds, the swaying of the trees as the wind washes over them, and the freshness of the morning dew, it’s all so incredible that Kokoro can’t stop herself from marveling outright.

She thinks they’re special, Mondays. A good kind of special. While Wednesdays are for wearing pink, Mondays signify the start of a brand-new week, filled with promise and concerts and hopefully cupcakes with sprinkles (fingers crossed). 

And in the spirit of adventure, Kokoro’s off sightseeing, head held high. She can feel it out there, something new, something exciting, and just thinking about it makes her want to burst into song.

But she won’t. Their manager said to save her singing voice for rehearsals and live shows so she can wow her audience with her absolute best, and Kokoro doesn’t want to let any of them down.

So what she will do is admire this beautiful piece of architecture, a building that looks like it was swept up right out of the Victorian era, and she’s getting goosebumps just imagining what’s inside.

To her surprise, it turns out that she actually owns the building (though she’d totally buy it on the spot), and that it’s being used as the headquarters of a company that manufactures children’s toys.

Which means there’s got to be someone here who loves making people smile as much as she does!

And her sources tell her that someone…is Okusawa Misaki.

So when she meets her, this girl who never seems to smile, she really doesn’t get it, how that’s supposed to work.

Though in truth, it’s something she doesn’t want to acknowledge. But maybe she can’t keep ignoring it. The immutable truth of this world. That there are people who will forward the happiness of others at their own expense, who don’t live for themselves at all.

It’s an easy fix. Misaki has probably forgotten what it’s like to be happy herself, so all Kokoro needs to do is figure out what makes her tick.

And if there’s one thing Tsurumaki Kokoro is good at, it’s getting what she wants.

"Come on, you have to have a favorite, Misaki!” Kokoro implores, beaming. “The one you'd get all your friends for their birthdays?" she adds, like a schoolteacher carefully coaxing an answer out of a hesitant child.

"Well, with about two-point-five million units sold worldwide, I think it's safe to say that the frontrunner is definitely—" Misaki attempts to deflect, and honestly, it’s like they’re not even on the same page, or even reading the same book??

"But what I really care about is what _you_ think, Misaki, " she asserts with a hint of indignance, not knowing why Misaki keeps making that weird face and using complicated language when Kokoro never asked her for some canned answer that grownups would approve of. All she wants to hear is something straight from the heart, so they can get to know each other, but Misaki is being so unnecessarily difficult!

“The stuffed bear,” Misaki reluctantly concedes a proper answer. “No one ever buys it and the material cost plus labor means we barely break even. But it's cute.”

And Misaki’s awkward half-smile is a sight for sore eyes.

“Happy, Lucky, Smile, Yay!” she exclaims, because this scene, this scene alone takes her breath away, fills her with so much anticipation that she doesn’t want to let go of it, this moment where her heart feels like it’s on fire and words aren’t nearly enough.

When they first met, she couldn’t tell if this Misaki was the _real_ Misaki.

But now, Misaki is all sorts of different. So different that Kokoro is starting to get lost in those eyes, those flawless blue eyes that have just begun to glitter like stars against the jet-black of the night sky.

*****

Misaki prides herself on staying in the know, and it isn’t hard to guess why she keeps up to date with the latest trends and slang.

It lasted a moment, but it felt like an hour, and she remembers it like it was yesterday: how quickly the blood drained from the faces of her coworkers as she joined their conversation and promptly misused their vernacular in every possible way.

Which is why she’ll let herself yield to abject confusion with such ease: because the last thing she wants is to get on Kokoro’s bad side.

"Happy, Lucky, Smile, Yay?" she repeats, confident that she understood each of those words _separately_. Kokoro smiles and gives her an affirmative nod in return, and Misaki’s intuition tells her that wrangling an answer out of her now will prove to be more trouble than it's worth.

But her concern quickly shifts to the knowing grin on Lisa's face when she gets back (and Kokoro nestling closer to her doesn’t do her any favors).

"How'd it go?" she asks, her expectations set higher than the empire state.

"It went well," Misaki replies courteously, not wanting to let on more than she has to.

Lisa winks and carries on with her work nonchalantly, leaving Misaki to connect the nonexistent dots and draw unfinished conclusions so avant-garde they’d be worthy of the Louvre.

In any case, how exactly she gets talked into exchanging phone numbers with this girl is a mystery worthy of the great Sherlock Holmes, one that she doesn’t intend to try her hand at until she’s fallen asleep so long the doctors think she’s comatose.

But if anyone can throw a wrench in those plans, it's Tsurumaki Kokoro.

II. It is said that the Dragon Warrior can survive for months at a time on the dew of a single Ginkgo leaf, and the energy of the universe.

But Misaki?

Misaki is just a lowly human, and without her morning coffee, she’s not sure she’s even _that_.

And if getting her daily fix involves a trip down to the local supermarket, then so be it.

Thankfully, no one’s on the roads this time of day, and it’s only a matter of time before her destination comes into view. Her parking… isn't even half bad given how early it is, and the faint morning breeze as she gets out is strangely refreshing. She isn't the slightest bit bothered by her phone going off as frequently as a car horn in evening traffic (which, thanks to yesterday, she’s quite familiar with). Priority #1 is heading to aisle 12 and squandering what remains of her meager savings on caffeine. Priority #2 is work.

Or that's how things were before she got bowled over by a force categorically on par with the old gods.

“Misaki!” Kokoro calls out, “you took so long to get here, I thought you’d never make it!”

Okay, she’s starting to wonder if that's Kokoro’s inside voice, or if Kokoro's just never had one to begin with...but her attention quickly shifts to the three entities behind her, each sporting a stylish black suit with matching sunglasses.

And very little can give more form to the shadowy nature of the Tsurumakis than the imposing figures lurking in the distance, each apparently assigned a respective aisle to stand watch over. If Misaki wasn’t mildly alarmed, she’d be in awe.

“You’re making that face again, Misaki…do you have a stomachache or something?” she wonders, coming closer to get a better look.

God, this girl loves to test her patience.

Luckily, Misaki is already a pro at weighing the options. Asking Kokoro why she’s here would likely result in conflict (something she actively avoids), and given the circumstances… leaving as quickly as she came is out of the question. She may as well accept her fate.

“So you wanted to go shopping together?” Misaki leads with a wild guess, and Kokoro kindly follows.

“Mhm, really, I just wanted to do something fun together, Misaki. But you missed all my calls, and then the suits said they’d been keeping an eye on you? They told me you were on your way here, so I rushed right over!” she rambles on, and for the sake of her sanity, Misaki will turn a blind eye to how her every move is being watched.

What's more concerning is how benign that makes her look. Misaki's used to dealing with rich people who will stop at nothing to get their way. They're a dime a dozen, which naturally implies that they are as cheap as they are wealthy.

What she's not used to is sincerity. She’s not. Misaki wouldn’t know how to act if placed in a world absolved of false pretenses.

Because as long as she's lived, kindness has been a lie, a white lie, told by an assortment of strangers in attempt to pry out of her what they may.

And so right now, kindness... is still as much a lie as it's ever been.

But with how Kokoro jumps into her shopping cart and waits to be pushed around, Misaki is inclined to at least give her the benefit of the doubt.

Her fingers wrap around the handle and they traverse the aisles, notwithstanding her misgivings.

Like usual, Misaki stocks up on the essentials while evading the piercing gaze of the suits, and Kokoro? Kokoro is having the time of her life zipping through the store, occasionally prodding her to forgo conventional wisdom and speed up. It reminds Misaki of her siblings, this kind of harmless fun, and she should really be more thorough. Sentiments precede attachment, and there’s no room in her life for yet another troublemaker, much less the one to rule them all.

Before they check out, they pay a visit to a realm Misaki knows all too well, and in light of the present circumstances, she limits herself to a single bottle of inexpensive sake.

Or so she thinks, because she blinks, and one turns into four while Kokoro's calm smile shifts to a grin.

And Misaki doesn’t need to consult her years of experience with children to know Kokoro’s up to something.

Her suspicions are confirmed when they roll up to the counter and Kokoro covertly swipes her credit card while Misaki’s busy unloading everything.

But the transaction processes before Misaki can stop her, and it leaves a sour taste in her mouth. She’s not a fan of being beholden to anyone, much less rich girls with a retinue of imposing bodyguards.

And she may as well change her name to Violet Baudelaire, because her life from then on is a series of unfortunate events.

*****

Now is the winter of our discontent, made glorious summer by this son of York.

She’s sure that’s what Kaoru would say if she were here, because it’s so unfair, so unfair how Misaki just defies all reason like that. Kokoro’s been as sociable as she can with her ever since they met! And Misaki still hasn’t smiled at her?? Not even once! Not even a little bit! It’s enough to make a grown woman cry!

And to top it all off, money’s supposed to make people happy, right? But it’s almost like Misaki is mad at her when Kokoro just wanted to be nice!

She helps Misaki load everything into the trunk of her car and specially rearranges everything so it fits like a glove. To Kokoro, it’s a job well done, and she’s not the only one who thinks so, because when she looks up to check, Kokoro can tell she’s forcing it, that frown, or whatever it’s called.

Almost like she’s not mad anymore. Like she really wants to smile now, but something's still in the way.

And that’s all the motivation Kokoro needs to work her magic, because she kind of likes making people smile, she’s kind of always liked making people smile, and not even something as scary as those taxes and audits her parents always bring up at the dinner table can stop her from wrestling a smile out of Okusawa Misaki, as stubborn as she might be.

“That was so much fun! Wasn’t it, Misaki? We got to go so fast on the shopping carts, and you were so funny when the milk came out of your nose! I can’t wait to visit Michelleland with you, too!” she puts forth, because Misaki _has_ to smile if they visit Michelleland, she just knows it!

After all, Michelleland was built so people could smile! Whatever Misaki's missing, it's got to be there!

“Michelleland?” Misaki vacillates, and it dawns on her that since it’s so new, she might not even know about it!

“It’s the name of our super cool amusement park! And it’s opening today! So if we go now, we'll get the whole place to ourselves!” Kokoro reveals, and she says the last bit in a loud whisper, torn between keeping secrets and showing how excited she is for this. She’s finally made a friend (outside of work and the band) and she’s always wanted to try keeping secrets for two.

“Ah. that sounds… interesting?” Misaki yields, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, “The milk will spoil if I don’t go put it in my fridge, though…”

It’s a deliberately vague answer, Kokoro thinks. She can’t classify that as a yes or a no, and she didn’t come all this way and ask just to settle for a maybe. Is Misaki always going to be like this? She closes her eyes and concentrates, spins around a little, and she senses it, Misaki’s uncertainty about all of this, and moreover, that that Misaki probably has her reasons for being so uptight all the time. Like maybe even Misaki doesn't know what she wants or something?

Lucky for her, Kokoro is a pro at taking leaps of faith.

“Then I’ll come with you, Misaki! And you can show me around your house while we’re putting everything away!”

It’s pushy, she knows. Kokoro is aware that forcing her way into Misaki’s life is at best uncouth, but nor is her behavior something she’s ever needed to justify. Tsurumaki Kokoro is capricious, and by birthright alone, she can conduct herself any which way she so pleases.

But none of that’s important. Even if she doesn’t _need_ to, she wants to know what about Misaki draws her in. This girl reminds her of someone, she can feel it.

Or is it two people?

Because Kokoro’s parents are just as weird, and it’s possible that Misaki is so special and interesting to her simply because she weakly resembles them, always so grim and serious.

Though now that she’s mulling it over, they don’t come across as quite so similar. Misaki doesn't seem like she'd be super scary when she's mad or perpetually distant. She just looks hurt. Like there’s something bothering her, something too volatile to keep bottling up, but something too delicate to discuss with just anyone.

And different can be good. Hello, Happy World is proof of that much.

It's Misaki's specific kind of different that has her worried. Kokoro can't explain it as well as she'd like but being stuck at a desk all day can't be fun for Misaki. Maybe it's atypical, how worked up she's getting over someone she barely knows.

But Kokoro has long forgone wanting to be normal in any sense of the world. And besides, it wouldn't be like her at all, to leave well enough alone.

To her, this view is singlehandedly worth meddling for. She’s never had the privilege of riding shotgun in a car that’s probably as old as she is, especially not with Misaki at the wheel. And there’s even a radio! Her Maserati might have an aux, but that’s nothing compared to this, and she fiddles with it, wondering if there’s even a station that’ll play music she knows the lyrics to.

Misaki sighs and presses a button on the side panel, and the music that plays is completely unfamiliar? But it's expressive, though she's not used to it, and she’s getting all kinds of ideas just listening along.

“You can sing louder if you want, Misaki! I don’t mind!” Kokoro encourages, literally on the edge of her seat.

In response, Misaki does raise her voice, but she also turns the radio up, and Kokoro think that’s practically cheating.

But unlike Space Invaders, two can play at that game.

So when the next song comes on, Kokoro looks up the lyrics, slyly turns the volume down, and tries to follow along as best she can.

  
  


For a brief second, Misaki’s frown is nowhere to be found.

*****

“Here. Now we’re even, ” Misaki says, handing Kokoro a couple of bills and coins that make a wonderful _clink_ when they’re thrust one after the other into the palm of her hand. “So if you're still set on going to that amusement park or whatever…”

“It’s going to be so much fun, Misaki! Oh, but we have to hurry or we won’t be able to ride all the rides!” Kokoro reminds her, picking up a bag and sifting through its contents.

Misaki sighs, not entirely sure why she's almost looking forward to this, or why Kokoro’s so insistent.

She isn’t a naïve child, however, to question the will of those with power. They might as well own the world and everyone in it.

And honestly, she’s spent the past half-hour agonizing over if she should even say something to express interest. When was the last time she put herself out there like that, high school?

Nor does she have a reason to tag along. Her time would be far better spent moping in the comfort of her own home than anywhere else. This is a wasted effort, no two ways about it, and she should really just save her breath.

But there’s something about Tsurumaki Kokoro that she can’t refuse, something about that entrancing smile that makes Misaki accept things as they are and act first without thinking twice.

III. Knowledge is grasping that a nodachi’s range is in the realm of three shaku. Wisdom is staying a distance of four away.

And lately, Okusawa Misaki has found herself in desperate need of the latter.

Which is why she's requesting a second opinion. By some standards, an awfully irritable second opinion, but she’s since learned that beggars can’t be choosers.

"So how are things with you and Kasumi?" she asks in a vain attempt to use pleasantries to ease tensions.

"Good. Or they were good, until someone woke me up at one in the morning and made me drive over to her apartment for some idle chitchat." the blonde tersely answers her, not in the mood to beat around the bush. She takes two sips of tea and breathes out a sigh.

"To answer your question, Kasumi's fine," she acknowledges, holding up her hand so Misaki can see a modest band of gold. "More than fine. I had to promise to spend the whole day with her tomorrow just to make it out the door in one piece."

Oh.

"You should've said something on the phone, you know. It's nothing so important that it needs to be now, " Misaki qualifies, feeling a twinge of guilt for having separated the happy couple.

Fortunately for her, she’s already piqued Arisa’s interest.

"You always act like you’re such a burden. It's important to you, isn't it? The Okusawa Misaki I know wouldn't call me up at ungodly hours of the night without good reason. Out with it."

Stirring cream into her coffee, Misaki begins her tragic tale of woe (of a Juliet, and her Romeo).

*****

54 minutes later, Misaki is vividly detailing the widespread dangers of silverware, and all Arisa can do is smile and nod. How they got here is beyond her entirely, but at least Misaki's rambling is easy enough to tune out that she can review the juicy bits.

"So those are hers?" Arisa wonders, pointing a finger to the stars that pepper the ceiling. She could've said the same of a good number of trinkets in Misaki's living room, but she'll allow the other some base amount of dignity out of respect for their years of friendship.

Misaki shrugs. "Kokoro said it makes her feel like she's at home."

"Right. Because she lives here now, " Arisa raises an eyebrow, careful not to overstep.

"It's not like that. She just likes gift-giving. It's one of those quirks rich people have," Misaki dismisses these unwarranted allegations with the attitude of an addict who repeatedly claims they can quit whenever they want to.

"So she hasn't seized your closet space for her extensive wardrobe?" Arisa follows up, starting to think that her work here is done; Misaki is just refusing to come to the obvious conclusions.

And when she doesn't get an answer, she has to assume the worst.

"God, you're impossible. Do you ever tell her no?" Arisa asks, still fairly cordial given how this is touching a nerve. She’s not going to come out and say it, but they’re friends. Good friends. And stark refusal is central to maintaining the balance of power. Misaki might as well thank her lucky stars, because if this were war, she’d be hopelessly, hilariously outgunned.

What’s more concerning is how she describes everything in such vivid detail, from their initial chance meeting all the way up to romantic dinners by candlelight, that Arisa feels like she was there. It’s almost scary, how enamored Misaki is with this girl. Is that what Arisa's like with Kasumi?

And Misaki is being deliberately vague. Even in light of Arisa’s prodding, they haven’t gotten anywhere. If these were truly exigent circumstances, then Misaki should at least be more forthcoming with what she wants here.

But Arisa has her fair share of experience grilling unsavory individuals as one of the nation’s most feared public prosecutors, her sharp tongue capable of making grown men burst into tears.

"And despite all of that, you still haven't formalized things with her?"

"There was never a reason to,“ Misaki answers. “It just...never came up."

"Mhm," Arisa notes, gauging the situation. Maybe what Misaki needs is a yes-man, some moral support in a time of crisis. "But she likes you, right? So you have nothing to lose?"

Misaki avoids making eye contact, and that confirms her fears. God is real, and he’s come here to spite her with a role reversal.

And though Arisa wants to instinctively deny it, she gets the impression past Misaki felt the same way back in college that she does now. After all, it's thanks to Misaki that Kasumi ever noticed her feelings in the first place. If not for her clumsy intervening, Arisa would still be chasing after the object of her affections as the latter lays waste to her carefully-tended garden.

That’s all the more reason not to let this go. The Misaki who’s long since lost faith in humanity, who’s come to terms with being miserable forever, she wants that Misaki to for once in her life cry tears of joy.

"Let's go over the facts," she offers. "In the past four months, the two of you have spent every waking moment together."

"Arisa. This is serious," she chides, sounding more and more like someone Arisa knows well.

"I am being serious, Okusawa-san. She held your hand the entire time you were at the zoo. The entire time," she counters, trying to balance her approach.

"It was a big place. Easy to get lost in," Misaki clarifies, stuck with playing Devil's advocate.

"She took you stargazing and told you the moon was beautiful," she stresses, reciting a phrase with a singular meaning.

"That one doesn't count. No one reads those ancient novels these days."

Arisa sighs and lowers her shoulders, exasperated.

"She comes up with quirky yet entertaining activities that are perfect for two people and proceeds not to invite anyone else. Like a lion cornering its prey," she remarks, going on the offensive.

"Three’s a crowd, you know. Besides, her bodyguards come everywhere with us. It’s not like we’re ever alone anyways. And it’s more like I’m forced to play the role of her handler than her friend when we’re in public."

Arisa’s fingers press into her forehead as she glares at the girl who was once decried by her peers for being a monster of reason.

"She almost kissed you. Twice."

  
Like a mouse entrapped in the inexorable clutches of a boa constrictor, Misaki can only writhe briefly in discomfort before resigning herself to her fate.

And Arisa is no stranger to the sweet taste of victory.

"So. That's that. All you need to do now is work up the nerve to tell her. Well?"

"Yeah..." Misaki says. "About that..."

Arisa rolls her eyes, gets up, and almost smacks some sense into her. Almost.

"It can't be that bad. Confessing, I mean."

"Says the person who only came to her senses after her friends staged an intervention. Do I need to remind you that you waited until the last possible second and we had to form a human chain to prevent a tactical retreat?"

"Fair," Arisa clears her throat, "That's fair. So let’s walk through what happens if you don’t. Kokoro’s parents give her an ultimatum: to find herself a suitable partner in the span of a month, or they’ll use her as a pawn to further their business interests. Kokoro knows she can’t wait forever, but she’ll wait, and wait, and then, she’ll invite you to the wedding, hoping you’ll crash it. Hoping that you become her knight in shining armor, and save her from a fate far worse than death. But you won’t. And then one day, you’ll realize that’s what she wanted all along, and you’ll hate yourself until the day you die. Sound fun?”

"You're exaggerating," she scoffs at the thought while something unsavory makes her blood boil.

"So what if I am?" Arisa counters. "Just answer the question."

Truth be told, Misaki hates it. Hates everything about it. Hates it so much she’s even willing to relent. "Fine, fine. Tomorrow."

"First thing in the morning," Arisa says, gathering her things and preparing to leave. "The wedding's in three months. You better let her tag along," she adds, a goodbye that implies exactly what she thinks it does.

Misaki nods, feeling altogether like a petulant child receiving an overdue scolding. She locks the door and brushes her hair out of her eyes, barely awake and fully exhausted.

"It's easier said than done," she says to herself, fishing through her pockets for her phone.

"Kokoro? I wanted to ask if you were free tomorrow. I was hoping we could talk."

IV. "We can only prepare ourselves for the worst. For when a maiden fair expresses her earnest wishes for an honest and lengthy discourse, our kind is made but mice, held captive to the will and whim of man," a voice laments, each word tormented with the anguish of personal experience.

As always, Kaoru’s opinion on matters of the heart is concise and worth its weight in gold. Of course, Kokoro expected as much of the great Bard's second incarnation upon this fickle earth.

But she can hardly make heads or tails of it in context. She’s done her best to stay on good terms with Misaki, so there’s no reason to have an argument out of the blue like Kaoru does with her girlfriend.

And Kokoro was right there on the line, listening to her. If Misaki really wanted to talk about something, she could’ve just told her then and there.

Though that's part of why she's called this meeting to order. Misaki's always been so hard to figure out, and the collective genius of Hello, Happy World is how she even got this far.

Hagumi shrugs and mumbles something while chewing on a croquette, and she has a point. Food does make everything better.

There’s just one problem with that: they’re supposed to talk in the morning, and Misaki is the most anti-breakfast person she knows. Kokoro hasn’t forgotten how she and Misaki went to the best pancake place in the world, just for her to say she already had a protein shake. Kokoro’s not quite sure what that means, but it doesn’t sound fun.

"Um...What if Misaki just wants to talk?" Kanon chimes in, embracing her position as the token voice of reason in a sea of chaos. "It doesn't automatically mean something bad's about to happen, right? Maybe she missed you, or maybe she just has something she wants to get off her chest, and she needs someone she can really trust to listen. Isn't that what friends are for?"

Hm. Kanon is level-headed (like usual) and she's spot-on. It almost makes Kokoro wonder why she doesn't hear from her more often.

Still, she can't help but wonder. When Misaki does message her first, it's something simple, like she has a day off or she got out of work early and wanted to let Kokoro know. It’s nothing beyond that.

And Kokoro recognizes that Misaki is just being polite there. It’s not like Misaki will ever return her feelings or even notice them, though she makes it super obvious with the myriad of cutesy stickers she keeps spamming. It’s always been like that with the two of them, nothing too serious, never anything heavy.

But judging by Misaki’s her tone of voice, it is now.

******

The jury's still out on whether the ancient Greeks were woefully misguided or intentionally ignorant, but Misaki is inclined to assume the latter.

After all, they operated under the supposition that their gods took residence atop a mountain they never once thought to scale.

So while some may call her a pessimist, Okusawa Misaki is merely attuned to the varied and punitive demands of reality, only meaning to add a dash of bitter truth wherever she goes.

And with the blinds placed just out of reach, Misaki rubs the grit out of her eyes and lets her mind drift.

It lands upon the tale of Icarus and Daedalus, of a boy and the tragic fate his own hubris earned him. Of the ancient Greeks and their folly in producing a story so flawed in execution but wrought with symbolism in its totality.

Because it's a Saturday morning, and Misaki isn’t about to back down from her date with destiny.

It’s foolish, she knows. Even if Icarus’s wings would have froze at such high altitudes, not melted, he would nonetheless fall, come hurtling down towards his untimely demise at the hands of the enveloping sea. Not a damn thing would change.

And perhaps that’s all it boils down to. Maybe Misaki is just reading too much into this.

But to Misaki, it’s a last-ditch attempt to stand in the way of the powers that be in a final act of outright defiance.

Because they’re nothing alike, the two of them. Whereas Misaki is in practice a modest slave to the omnipotent Board of Directors, Kokoro is soon-to-be one of the world’s three richest, the sole heiress to a conglomerate that’s had an unshakeable grip on the global economy since before she was born.

It would take someone like Kokoro all of three seconds and a single phone call to put Misaki out onto the streets. It's inconceivable, that someone like her would give Misaki the time of day. If she likened the masses to the frog in the well, Tsurumaki Kokoro would be the sun, surpassing even the endless sky.

So Misaki will rise above them, and accept her role as Icarus, throwing her life away to glimpse a brilliance that makes all the world pale in comparison.

Mhm. But first, she’ll make herself presentable.

And then she'll torch what little remains of her common sense.

******

“Misaki!" the blonde pulls her into a tight hug that she can’t say she minds as much as she used to, Kokoro’s voice a cheerful twitter.

"The stars last night were so pretty, Misaki! They reminded me how much I wanted to see you, so when you called, I wanted to rush right over! But then I fell asleep. And then I thought you might be asleep," she sprints through a flurry of thoughts as she plops onto her couch, her eyes following the stickers on Misaki's ceiling.

"So anyways, what'd you want to talk to me about, Misaki?" Kokoro asks, rolling off the couch and bursting into a cartwheel like it's the most normal thing in the world.

But Misaki? Misaki wouldn’t want it any other way.

"It's sort of related to that, actually..." her voice trails off, not knowing how best to approach it in a way Kokoro would understand.

“I don't know if it seems like you're always dragging me into things, but I like spending time with you, Kokoro. It's almost scary how movie night rolls around and I wonder if there’s enough popcorn in the pantry. "

So that’s why Arisa told her to write out a script.

"And I suppose this is me just being selfish now."

Because Tsurumaki Kokoro is inexorably dazzling, and Misaki can’t help but concede to that entrancing smile. It makes her forget how to think. And she wants it all for herself.

"But that's the thing about love. It's selfish, and it never makes sense, and the only thing you really know is you'd spend the rest of your life with that person in a heartbeat."

And though Misaki can't even make heads or tails of what she's saying, Kokoro seems to follow along just fine, nodding for her to continue. She steps closer, their faces just a few inches apart.

"That person is you, Kokoro. I like you. No, more accurately, I'm in love with you. All those times people asked us if we were a couple made me start thinking about it. And I guess I wouldn't mind if we were. I want you to be mine."

Misaki doesn't know if it's unbridled strength or unchecked stupidity that lets her say those words with such conviction.

But she doesn't regret saying them.

The sting of the unsavory pause that follows isn't lost on her, but she doesn't regret saying them, and she never will.

Because Misaki hasn't forgotten that there was indeed a time when she was a hair's breadth away from heeding the call of the void, a time when she would have easily offered her life to someone, anyone whose brassy fanfare could drown out the allure of the great abyss.

"Sorry," Misaki continues, her long-lost voice of reason finally making a cameo. "I didn't to put you on the spot there or anything. Obviously, I didn't think we would ever be more than friends. It just seemed underhanded, to take advantage of your kindness without—"

"You've always seemed kinda weird to me, Misaki," Kokoro sharply cuts her off, and it’s the first time Misaki has seen her this serious.

"Like when you want to do something, you wait for others to force you into it. Or how you work yourself to the bone to keep the people around you in good spirits, but when it comes to yourself, you don't think twice. Things like that."

Kokoro hums a tune from an obscure children's show nearly a decade old, something so ancient she wouldn't be surprised if they found it in the pyramids.

"But that's probably what makes you special, Misaki. And without all of that, you wouldn't be you," she recounts, inching closer. Like usual, Kokoro is all smiles, and Misaki thinks she's skipped to the middle of a conspiracy theory video on the dark side of the net.

Then again, understanding Kokoro has never really been her strong suit, and she just ends up wasting her breath when she tries. So maybe she really is the weird one.

That doesn't mean she's given up.

"But I do have one condition," Kokoro proposes, a wry smile coming to light as their noses meet.

"Which is?" Misaki prompts with bated breath. It slowly dawns on her that Kokoro's not refusing her outright, and it takes every bit of self-control she has not to grin like a complete idiot.

"Forever," Kokoro softly whispers back, as innocent as a lamb. "You said you would."

"Forever," Misaki repeats, bringing Kokoro into her arms and holding her gingerly, and if she ever lets her go, it'll be too soon.

**Author's Note:**

> maybe the foreshadowing here is too flagrant but 7k is already twice my usual so sue me.
> 
> if you found this mildly entertaining (and you enjoy making bad decisions), feel free to check out my other fics or find me on twitter (also @lefauxlucifer)


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